


The Father: Or (quam vilis et didici vide ut sileas diaboli)

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Priests, Crack, I'm Going to Hell, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: Father Edge had never quite imagined he might end up in such a situation.





	1. The Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Jana this is all your fault baby

Father Edge had never quite imagined that he might end up in such a situation.

Sure, there had been times over the years where he had let his mind wander, and maybe some of those times had been during mass, and maybe some of those other times had been during some mind numbing confession -- and bless their hearts, bless all of them for he wished them all the best, truly, but there was only so much he could hear about things that didn’t even fall close to what he and their Lord above considered a sin, and yet week after week, there he found himself, listening as Derek or Ted listed every action of their damned day.

He often likened those times to being young and reading comic books about superheroes with stars in his eyes, then climbing into bed afterward and allowing himself to drift away to a place where he was the one in tights fighting the bad guys and hearing the cheers, all of those cheers as he saved the day, Captain Edge . . . though of course back in those days he had just been regular old Dave, dreaming of being some sort of superman.

It was similar enough, especially in the way that he kept each and every little detail and musing to himself, because Lord knows he received enough ribbing from the others without mentioning any of the interesting daydreams he found himself caught in. Because that’s all they ever were -- daydreams. Silly little musings to fight away boredom,  delusions of grandeur that he knew would never amount to anything, because as much as Father Edge pictured himself in the position of hero, he knew that his chances of actually performing an exorcism were slim to none. Not one of those exciting ones that Hollywood liked to show, anyway. No, if it ever came down to it, which Father Edge had always known it wouldn’t, he would probably end up presiding over an exorcism of some soul’s cat after hearing all about  (probably one day during confession, and it would probably be Derek or Ted) how the cat “just hadn’t been itself recently, Father, please can you help?” or something equally sad and mundane. It was just how life was. Mundane. And a little sad.

Of course, that all changed when Father Bono went and got himself possessed.

And really, it was such a Father Bono thing to do that Father Edge could barely find it in himself to be shocked. Or annoyed. Or horrified. Or anything really, except for _curious_.

Curious, and maybe a little bit excited, though he would never admit that to anyone. No, it was best just to keep those sorts of things to himself. Keep his excitement levels to a minimum since, after all, this was his best friend they were talking about here, actually vomiting pea soup and, if Father Larry was to believed, even showing definite signs of having his head spinning all the way around. Though Father Edge wasn’t entirely sure how one might “show signs” of that -- either your head spun around or it didn’t, in his view there wasn’t really a grey area to be found, but when he brought it up with Father Larry, he received only a shrug and a, “Well, it is what is is,” to which Father Adam had replied, “Well, what does that even mean, exactly?” to which Father Larry had shrugged once more and offered up a cool, “It is what it is, Father Adam,” and after that, Father Edge had thought best not to press the issue. Just move on, keep the enthusiasm about the situation to a low, and try and figure it all out together.

Thus, when asking, “So, do you think he’ll need an exorcism?” a mere twenty minutes after possession had been confirmed, Father Edge kept his tone decidedly nonchalant. Though when he added, “Because I have a pretty _extensive_ knowledge of exorcisms,” he couldn’t quite keep the passion at bay.

Father Adam responded with, “Do you now?” with muted interest, while Father Larry was more fervent in offering his opinion:

“An ‘extensive knowledge’? What does that even mean -- you’ve seen The Exorcist? Because we’ve _all_ seen The fuckin’ Exorcist at least once, Father Edge, it’s basically a set text at this point.”

He had seen The Exorcist at least ten times over the years, but Father Edge thought it best not to mention that. In fact, it was likely best to just move on from the subject, lest he reveal his little obsession. Though it wasn’t really an obsession, more of a keen interest; that, and an awesome world to visit during those boring times in life, of which there were many, for Father Edge loved his religion and his God and so many people, but it was not the life of a rockstar, that was for sure. “But he will need an exorcism, right?”

“Do you think exorcisms even work?” Father Adam screwed up his face. “I thought they were just myth. I don’t think I’ve ever really heard of an actual one being performed.”

Father Edge was sure that he had, though thinking about it, he struggled to remember any of the finer details. “Well, what else do you suggest? We can’t just leave him like this!”

“I know, he’s made such a mess.” Somehow Father Adam managed to scrunch his face up even further. “That rug will have to be thrown.”

“The rug? I think you’re missing the point here, Father.”

“ _Weeelll_ ,” Father Larry started, causing Father Edge to mentally prepare himself for whatever _genius_ was about to emerge, “besides the vomiting and spinning head part, is he really that different?”

This gave Father Edge pause. Then reason came knocking. “He has the devil inside of him!”

“Hasn’t he always?” Father Adam mused, before turning serious. “No, but Father Edge is right. We need to try something. And quickly, because, frankly, it’s already getting a little tiring.”

Father Larry shrugged. “All I’m saying,” he said, “is that if we can’t fix him then . . .” He shrugged again. “Well, maybe he wouldn’t be attending Mass, but life wouldn’t be _that_ different, would it?”

_“He has the devil inside of him, Larry!”_


	2. The Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The madness continues . . . and somehow, it has been extended to feature a third chapter. I blame Jana once more

Father Edge had the good sense to know that life had to get stranger before it got better. In this case anyway, it seemed likely, for as soon as he cast his gaze upon the fifteenth page of the big old dusty book they had been presented with by the elders . . . well, it just screamed trouble. And that trouble had been scribed in beautiful ancient Latin, the first word of which just happened to be  _ Cum _ .

“Well,” Father Adam said as he thoughtfully rubbed his chin, “I mean, I’m certain that had a different meaning back in those days to . . . you know, what it means now.”

“Right,” Father Larry agreed, though he continued to side eye the book. “Yup. Different meaning, for sure.”

Nodding, Father Adam echoed, “For sure,” before pausing. “I mean, I’m sure they had a whole other word for the act of ejaculating. After all, they were a bunch of randy bastards, those Romans.”

“Can we move on?” Father Edge interjected, though he couldn’t shake that troubled feeling. “I’m not entirely sure it is helpful to discuss sex whilst Father Bono’s life may be at stake!”   


“I’m just sayin’,” Father Adam said with a shrug. “They were having all kinds of sex back then.”

“Enough about sex!” Father Edge ejaculated, fixing what he hoped was his most ferocious glare Father Adam’s way, which for some reason brought out a smirk from his target. “We need to focus, alright, and try and figure out what this means. Father Bono is counting on us. So from this point on there will be no more talk of sex. Agreed?”

He received a mumbled “Agreed,” and a muttered “Whatever,” in response, and, mostly satisfied, Father Edge set out to plan their next move. Unfortunately for them all, but especially Father Bono, none of them were fluent in Latin. It seemed they would have to bring in an expert, which was just what they needed: another person caught up in the strangest of dramas.

  
*  
  


Father Paul let out a low whistle before reciting the words on the page, “Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te,” in a voice that was half suspicious, half amused, with a little sprinkling of what Father Edge liked to think of as the  _ oh jeez _ tone, which was unfortunately for him something he had heard mostly coming from his own lips. “You boys aren’t pulling my leg with this one, by any chance?”

“Why?” Father Larry quickly asked. “Is it something way out there? Is it  _ weird _ ?”

“No,” Father Edge cut in when Father Adam opened his mouth, for he was certain that what might have escaped would have been entirely unhelpful to the situation. “No Father, this is the real deal, I swear.”

Another low whistle cut through the room. “Well.” Father Paul adjusted his glasses. “I thought it best to ask before revealing what I know.” With that said, he lapsed into silence, staring at the book so intently that Father Edge was almost certain the pages would soon spontaneously combust. He felt the trappings of trepidation crawling at the base of his neck, as that look was never a good look to see, but soon enough, frustration came along and pushed all other notions out of the window.

“Well?” he prompted, none too gently. “What does it mean then?”

Father Paul sighed heavily. “Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te . . . the most carnal of exorcisms.” He glanced up at Father Edge. “It means ‘with this cock I banish thee’.”

There was silence. Prolonged, awkward silence. Finally, Father Edge managed to find his voice, letting out a flat, “What.”

Shaking his head, Father Paul said, “The older boys at the Seminary used to tell us about it, but we thought we were just being told tall tales. Of course, boys being boys, it became a long running gag among the lot of us. I still remember being out and about in town, the group of us, and seeing this girl walk by, short skirt, dark make up, you know, the sort we were warned about. Father Gavin, of course -- he could never help himself, that one -- well, he called out after her, 'You look like you’d be a devil, if you catch my drift' or something along those lines anyway. Maybe it was 'a devil beneath the sheets'. That sounds more like Father Gavin -- actually, now that I’m thinking about it, it might not even have been Father Gavin at all. But it sounds like him, doesn’t it? 

“But whoever it was, they said what they had, meaning, of course, in the secular sense, and she knew it too, as she looked back with a smile and a wink that none of us believed, then told him in effect where he could go, using words I dare not speak under such a holy roof. But Father Gavin was not deterred, in fact there was little that could break him, then and now. He just called after her, he said, 'What you need is a good cock exorcism,' and he complimented such words with . . . well, some thrusting was involved, let us just leave it at that. But, oh how we laughed.” With a smile on his face, Father Paul shook his head once more. “But Lord if he didn’t get the mother of all thrashings once we got back to the Seminary.”

There was more silence. Prolonged, awkward silence. Finally, Father Larry managed to find his voice, letting out an aggravated, “What are you even  _ talking  _ about?”

“Cock exorcism,” Father Edge repeated slowly, and although the word seemed to burn against his lips, he couldn’t help but let it out once more, feeling horror and wonder at the same time -- an interesting combination, for sure. “Cock. Exorcism.”

“I knew it,” Father Adam crowed. “I knew it was about sex. Those Romans--”

“You’re making this up,” Father Edge cut in. “There is no way this--”

“Hey now,” Father Paul threw up his hands, “like I said, I thought we were just being told tall tales back then. I never actually thought it was a thing that existed! But. Well, look at this.” He gestured wildly towards the book, then turned the page, fingering the unnecessarily large drawing that featured. “And this. Would you  _ look  _ at this? Wow.” Leaning in closer, he peered at the drawing for a strangely long time. “Look at that. That’s actually quite erotic, isn’t it.”

It was, but that was neither here nor there, though Father Edge himself couldn’t help but take a second, and then third and fourth glance at the drawing, just to be certain that, yes, the two men pictured were in fact engaged in what looked to be a pretty intense bout of lovemaking. Though given that the receiver was possessed, Father Edge was not entirely sure one could label it as _lovemaking_. 

“ _ Quite _ ?” Father Larry squinted at the drawing. “I think that qualifies as being  _ extremely _ , not  _ quite _ . Look at their faces, for crying out loud! Did they have to draw their faces like that? I mean, look at  _ that _ .” He jammed his finger against the face of the giver. “His expression strikes me as someone who is experiencing pure rapture, and I do not mean in the religious sense here.”

“Can we move on?” Father Edge all but pleaded. He was starting to feel faint. And another thing altogether, a feeling he knew quite well, unfortunately -- well enough to know just how to ignore it. Mostly. “Seriously, can we?”

“Father Edge is right,” said Father Adam. “Even if this is true, which I’m not saying it’s not, because . . . well, if this book was telling lies then we would look pretty stupid bringing it to you, wouldn’t we? But still, surely there are other ways of performing an exorcism, ways that do not involve anyone having to have sex with something that will likely projectile vomit in their face halfway through.”

Father Edge glared. “Don’t call him a thing. He’s still a person.”

“That may be so,” Father Adam countered, “but I’ve never seen Father Bono vomit quite like that, have you? I would think that part of him could be referred to as a thing, surely.”

“Clearly you’ve never been out drinking with him,” Father Larry said darkly.

“Agreed,” noted Father Paul. “It’s a sight to behold.”

“All I’m saying is,” Father Adam shrugged, “instead of jumping the gun and propositioning the vomit machine for a good time, that maybe we should investigate further? Surely there has to be an alternative solution, one that doesn’t involve sticking our cocks anywhere.”

Father Edge glared. “Don’t say cocks.”

“Sorry. Penis, then.”

“Don’t even say that.”

“Why not? We all have one!”

“Because in this context it’s  _ weird _ , Adam!”

 


	3. The Exorcism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY YOU GUYS, that I've been so absent. I've had zero time in life to do much of the fun things, and this makes me very sad. But I had to do something fun tonight, lest I go mad. So here this is. I hope you enjoy...I think I wrote this chapter mostly to crack myself up, so I hope it cracks you guys up too. Likeamadonna, I WILL READ YOUR CHAPTER, TOMORROW, I PROMISE. I LOVE YOU. I'M SORRY.

As it turned out, there was no alternative solution. Although no one could say that they didn’t try, because they did -- they tried so many things. So. Many. Things. Firstly, the Hollywood exorcism, because who knew? Maybe it wasn’t just words on a page, maybe there had been some truth there. Stranger things had happened. 

Although not this time. Mostly, ‘Father Bono’ just seemed amused, his laugh echoing oddly through the room, almost as though he was being tickled, as Father Edge yelled, “The power of Christ compels you!” Though it seemed the dousing of holy water that followed quite was not quite as amusing.

“ **_WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW UNCOMFORTABLE IT IS TO BE CAUGHT IN WET CLOTHING?_ ** ”

“Do you really think you can complain when they’re already soaked through from your own vomit?” Father Adam pointed out.

“ **_DO YOU NOT THINK I WOULD CEASE SUCH A USELESS BODILY FUNCTION IF I COULD? IT IS NOT PLEASANT FOR ME EITHER, YOU KNOW_ ** .”

“Sorry.”

“The power of Christ compels you,” Father Edge tried one more time, his voice petering out towards the end, before turning to face a rather pleased looking Father Paul. “It’s not working!”

“I don’t even think the holy water is doing anything but annoying him,” Father Larry added, confused. “I figured at least that would, I don’t know, burn him or something?”

“I’m telling you, I doubt the holy water will have any effect unless it’s administered internally,” said Father Paul, smugly, for as soon as the idea of a cock exorcism had been raised, he had decided there was no other path. Even as he continued to remind the three of them how he had been sure it had all just been a  _ tall tale _ . Really, Father Edge wasn’t entirely sure why they had kept him around. 

“ **_WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?_ ** ”

“Well, would pouring it down his throat work?” asked Father Edge, hopeful. “That is the best way to administer something internally, after all. And much more preferable than. . . the other thing. Would that work?”

It didn’t.

Sputtering, ‘Father Bono’ looked most confused. “ **_ARE YOU TRYING TO DROWN ME?_ ** ” 

“Would  _ that  _ work?” asked Father Adam.

It didn’t. 

“ **_WHY?_ ** ” was all ‘Father Bono’ said in response, looking so sad and sodden that Father Edge almost wanted to hug him. And he might have, had ‘Father Bono’ not immediately projectile vomited in his face. Following that, though, was the head spinning that Father Larry had insisted was real, and that was well worth the price of admission -- though the smug look on Father Larry’s face made Father Edge want to smack him, just a little.

Next, they tried all holding up crucifixes while Father Adam read passages from the Bible, as it seemed worth a shot. ‘Father Bono’, for the most part, was silent, speaking only when Father Adam paused twelve verses in. “ **_YOUR VOICE IS MOST PLEASING TO THESE EARS, FATHER ADAM_ ** .”

“Oh! Well, uh,” Father Adam rubbed at the back of his neck, a little awkwardly, “thank you?”

“ **_NO,_ ** **THANK** **_YOU._ ** ”

It was, frankly, pretty weird. “Maybe we should move on?” Father Edge suggested quickly.

“ **_I WOULD PREFER NOT TO, IF IT IS ALL THE SAME TO YOU_ ** .”

“ _ Weelll _ , actually--”

“Maybe I should keep trying,” Father Adam suggested. “You never know, it could work?”

“ **_YES. DO. THANK YOU_ ** .”

“I don’t think--”

“I’ll just keep going then,” Father Adam cut in, and, true to his word, kept on going. For so long that Father Edge lost count of just how many verses had been recited, and, though he would never admit such a thing, eventually he found himself rather bored by the very book he had dedicated his life to. 

On a Sunday, no less. 

And, if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn Father Adam was getting a kick out of the way ‘Father Bono’ responded to his readings, for each time a smile crossed that vomit-encrusted face, Father Adam’s voice went up in timbre, the corners of his lips tugged downward, and Father Larry muttered, “Oh, for cryin’ out loud . . .”

Later that evening,  _ much  _ later, Father Edge found himself up on a ladder painting a pentagram on the ceiling above the bed, while ‘Father Bono’ watched. “ **_YOU ARE TRULY AN ARTIST, FATHER EDGE,_ ** ” said he, and right then and there, Father Edge knew that this plan was not going to work. When he glanced down, he found ‘Father Bono’ smiling up at him like he had once, often, and that look paired with the sincerest of compliments turned the very tips of Father Edge’s ears a burning red. “ **_AM I EMBARRASSING YOU WITH MY PRAISE, FATHER EDGE_ ** ?”

“No,” said Father Edge, though perhaps he meant  _ yes _ , or more likely a tentative  _ maybe _ , and before another compliment could come he climbed down the ladder and promptly left the room.

After a few more attempts were made, some ridiculous, others truly embarrassing, and one from the internet that was just plain  _ strange _ , they were left with zero options. Well, actually (as well as  _ sadly)  _ with just the one.

Clapping his hands together briskly, Father Paul said, “Well, it has to be time for the cock exorcism, surely?”

Weakly, Father Edge said, “Don’t say cock.”

“Sorry.”

“So, who is going to fuck him then?” Father Larry asked loudly, though when Father Edge glanced up he found three gazes fixed firmly on him.

“What?  _ Me _ ?” he spluttered. “You’re not suggesting--”

“Oh come on, Father, you said it yourself: you have a pretty extensive knowledge of exorcisms. And we all know that when you say something like that, it means you want to do it. The exorcism, I mean.”

“Even if that is true, which it isn’t,” Father Edge insisted, though from the looks he was receiving he knew they weren’t buying it, “I think I’ve performed enough exorcisms these past few days to get my full filling of them!”

“Yeah, but you’ve not done one that works.”

“I think the act of trying has given me enough of the full experience though!”

“Look,” said Father Larry, “someone has got to fuck him, why not you?”

“Why not _me_?” Father Edge exclaimed. “Why not  _ you _ ?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m not entirely sure I’d be able to get it up, I mean, he’s covered in vomit, Father, and his head, did you see his head? I’ve seen it twice now, you guys, it went all the way around. That - it’s just not right.” Father Larry held up his hands, shaking his head. “Not me, man, I can’t muster up an erection over such a thing.”

“And you think I can?”

“I’ve seen your internet search history!”

Any retort promptly left Father Edge, his mouth snapping shut. The ground suddenly became rather interesting to view, though his lowered head wasn’t enough to hide his burning cheeks.

Leering, Father Adam said, “Oh really? Do tell!”

Father Paul clapped his hands together. “So it’s agreed then. Father Edge will do the fucking.”

“What?” Father Edge jerked his head back up. “Hey, I’ve agreed to  _ nothing _ . Why can’t Father Adam do it?”

“Because I choose not to,” Father Adam said simply. 

“That’s not an answer!”

“Hey, the man knows what he wants, and what he doesn’t want, Father Edge,” said Father Larry. 

“Long ago,” started Father Adam, “like, in high school, Father Bono and I, caught in a long dry spell, discussed whether we should find some relief together, if you know what I mean. It seemed like a good enough idea, and Lord knows I was horny enough to go for anything -- I mean, we all remember what it was like to be a teenage boy, right? Full of hormones? What a trial life was during those times. A beautiful torturous trial. So anyway, there we were, ready to discover one another in the secular sense, when Father Bono took one look at my naked body and said, “I can’t do this, Adam. Not with you,” and fled the room. I admit, it was one of the more disappointing moments of my life, and for a few days we had trouble looking at one another, but we got over it. I never did quite ask what he meant by “Not with you” though. Was there someone else?” Father Adam shook his head, while Father Edge once more found the ground rather interesting. “Anyway, we decided soon after to all become priests, so it was neither here nor there, but I figure that, if Father Bono didn’t want to do it with me then, then he probably wouldn’t want to do it with me now. So you see, it’s not really me saying no to fucking him, Father Edge, it’s Father Bono.”

“That seems like a rather weak excuse,” Father Edge muttered.

“But it still holds,” countered Father Adam. “Can you honestly say Father Bono has told you he can’t have sex with you?”

Father Edge couldn’t. He most definitely could not. “What about Father Paul?” 

“No,” said Father Paul. “I do think Father Bono would much prefer someone younger and better looking to do the deed, so to speak.”

It was madness. It seemed he would not win. And yes, Father Edge wanted Father Bono to be back, normal and not gross looking, but he also would have preferred, in regards to the way Father Bono was restored, to be excluded from the narrative. Sex complicated things, even exorcism sex, and Father Edge had so many thoughts about it. Would Father Bono come back to them in the midst of intercourse, or would it happen post climax? What would happen if either of those scenarios? Did Father Bono even know what was going on? Would Father Edge be able to keep going after being vomited on? Would he even be, in Father Larry’s words, able to get it up? Would it even work? Or was he just being pushed to go and have sex with a vomiting head-spinning demon that was currently occupying a body Father Edge had, admittedly, found quite attractive once. Or twice. Or all the time, come hell or high water. What did this mean for those feelings? Would it do them away for good, thrusting into such a thing as it spewed, words and otherwise, demon words that echoed in his head and made him tingle? Or would it make it worse? And if it did, then what the hell did that say about him?

“I have a headache,” Father Edge announced, before retiring to his bedroom for a while.

The next day, after several more feeble attempts at protesting, two that turned rather heated (and he’d never been entirely good at debate), Father Edge found himself standing on the threshold to ‘Father Bono’s’ bedroom. ‘Father Bono’ eyed him curiously, though remained silent.

He had good reason to be curious, for Father Edge came armed with a couple of buckets of normal water, a tube of lubricant and some condoms (as safety was, above all else, paramount, if abstinence was at all not entirely possible) a hidden stash of holy water, and what he hoped was his most disarming smile, though inside there was nothing but torment. He said, “Um, hello,” and ‘Father Bono’ continued to eye him curiously. 

“ ** _YOU LOOK STRANGE, FATHER EDGE, ARE YOU UNWELL?_** "

“What? Me? Nooo.” Father Edge laughed; it came out more than a little hollow. “I’m just, you know, carrying my buckets around, is all.”

“ **_I DID NOT ASK WHAT YOU WERE DOING, FATHER EDGE, I ASKED IF YOU WERE UNWELL._ ** ”

Father Edge paused. “Yes, well.” With a sigh, he stepped further into the room, and doused ‘Father Bono’ with one of the buckets of water.

“ **_WHY_ ** ?” ‘Father Bono’ cried. “ **_HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING? WATER HAS NO EFFECT ON ME_ ** .”

“I’m not trying to exorcise you, I’m trying to clean you,” Father Edge explained, then put the second bucket to good use. There was silence. Pitiful, strange silence. ‘Father Bono’ was cleaner than he had been, though he looked most confused about it. “Sorry,” Father Edge added when the silence continued. “I’m sorry.”

“ **_IT IS ALRIGHT. I KNOW MY APPEARANCE HAS DISPLEASED YOU RECENTLY_ ** .” ‘Father Bono’ sounded almost apologetic about the fact, leaving Father Edge quite unsure of how to proceed. It might have been a demon he was faced with, or even perhaps  _ the  _ Devil, they’d never quite stopped to ask who they were dealing with, but ‘Father Bono’ was, admittedly, rather charming still. Nothing much had differed in the changing of hands, so to speak. 

Shuffling from foot to foot, Father Edge pondered his next step. It was best to proceed, and quickly, he was sure, before any more vomit appeared. But  _ how  _ to proceed? Sure, he’d written down a few things to prepare, but there was a difference between preparing and doing, and faced with the reality of doing ‘Father Bono’ left him wanting to run away and sob in a corner somewhere. He couldn’t, though. Like it or not, this was his best friend he was talking about. Someone had to fuck him. And apparently, that someone was him.

“Um,” Father Edge started. “I wouldn’t say I’ve been displeased. But, well, you do look, uh, nice. Now. All clean and not . . . vomity. Yes, you look nice all wet and clean. Sir. Can I call you that?”

“ **_I WILL ALLOW IT, FOR YOUR TONGUE CAN NOT HANDLE MY TRUE NAME. IF YOU WISH, PERHAPS YOU COULD CALL ME BONO. IT IS A FINE NAME. THOUGH STRANGE._ ** ”

“Well,” said Father Edge. “Okay then. Wow. I don’t know if I - look, let’s just move on, alright? You look nice today, is what I’m saying.”

“ **_WELL, THANK  YOU, THIS BODY IS QUITE PLEASING TO RESIDE IN_ ** .”

“. . .I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

More silence. It stretched on, torturing him, and Father Edge could not think of another thing to say. It was humiliating. He wanted to cry. Or die. Or something equally extreme, but in the end he just let out a sigh and started to take off his clothes.

“ **_WHAT ARE YOU DOING_ ** ?”

Resigned, Father Edge said, “Unfortunately, I need to penetrate you now.”

“ **_OH_ ** !” said ‘Father Bono’, and for a short time he was silent. “ **_THIS PLEASES MY HOST BODY_ ** .”

“...what.”

“ **_DO AS YOU MUST._ ** ” ‘Father Bono spread his legs. “ **_IT IS ABOUT TIME, MY HOST BODY IS THINKING_ ** .”

“...what.”

“ **_DO YOU REQUIRE ME TO DO ANYTHING MORE, FATHER EDGE_ ** ?” ‘Father Bono’ asked. “ **_THIS MAY COME AS NO SURPRISE TO YOU, BUT I HAVE LEARNED MANY SINFUL WORDS IN MY TRAVELS. DO YOU WISH I SPEAK THEM TO YOU, IN YOUR EAR?_ ** ”

“Oh God,” Father Edge murmured. “No, please don’t. No need. I’m fine, thank you. I can manage. Seriously.”

“ **_AS YOU WISH._ ** ”

It seemed, though, that ‘Father Bono’ just couldn’t help himself, as was the case with or without possession, for later (a good while later, as Father Edge spent far too long sitting on the edge of the bed, willing himself to get hard as he stroked his cock, because it was all well and good to think of Bono as he once had been, but this Bono now had started vomiting once more and Father Edge's buckets were empty) when Father Edge was finally inside of him, eyes tightly closed as he thrusted quickly, ‘Father Bono’ started whispering sweet nothings. His version of sweet nothings, anyway. “ **_YOU SUCK COCKS IN HELL, FATHER_ ** .”

“Oh jeez.”

“ **_NO, YOU SUCK COCKS IN GEORGIA._ ** ”

Father Edge paused in his thrusting. “What?”

“ **_NO FATHER, DO NOT STOP. PUNISH ME, YES, I DESERVE IT. HARDER, FATHER, HARDER_ ** .”

“Oh my god,” said Father Edge, and the last word sounded an awful lot like a sob. He kept going though, trying to find his happy place in the midst of it all, and maybe pre-exorcism Bono was a part of that, once, but now, with that voice shouting in his ear, “ **_FUCK ME UNTIL I BLEED, FATHER_ ** ,” Father Edge was certain he would never be able to picture Father Bono in such a way again. There was a chance he would never be able to look the man in the eye again either. Though somehow, he kept his erection. And yes, there was a chance that it felt good, maybe even great, but at what cost? He would need years of therapy. Though how did one even bring up such a topic, without being carted off to a mental hospital?  **_“MY HOST BODY DREAMED OF THIS_ ** .”

“What?” Father Edge exclaimed, and abruptly ejaculated. It came out of left field, and was not at all part of the plan. “Oh jeez. Oh no.”

“ **_WHAT IS THE MATTER?_ ** ”

“Nothing, it’s fine,” said Father Edge, and fled the room as quickly as he could.

The next day he appeared in the doorway armed once more with two buckets of water and all the other bits and pieces one needed when performing a cock exorcism, and this time he had prepared his erection before entering the room. ‘Father Bono’ looked him up and down, appreciatively. “ **_I KNEW YOU WOULD COME BACK FOR MORE_ ** .”

Father Edge just sighed, and doused ‘Father Bono’ with a bucket of water. 

This time around, he kept his cool, going at it slowly, methodically. He even managed to tune out the dirty talk. Well, most of it. “ **_FUCK ME IN GEORGIA, FATHER._ ** ”

There were questions Father Edge wanted to ask.

He didn’t, though, just kept at it, the truest of professionals carrying out his duty. Just another day at the office, no big deal, nothing out of the ordinary. It was fine. He could do this. And he was. Doing this. Splendidly. And sure it was weird, but life was weird. 

When he stopped to apply holy water to his cock midway through, though, was when things got truly weird -- and Father Edge had seen some weird things in his life, but never before had he seen someone's head spin around while he was fucking them. And it wasn’t just that making it weird, it was the full body tingles shooting up and down his spine, and the cloud that formed above their heads, and the lightning flickering in that cloud, and the way the bed was floating, yes, floating through the air as they went at it on top of the covers. The combination of all those things made it probably the weirdest thing Father Edge had encountered, though there was some stiff combination. 

Ever the professional, he kept at it, thrusting away with his cock now slicked with holy water, pointedly ignoring the head spinning and the moaning, as ‘Father Bono’ was moaning now, long and hard, and not in the way that Father Edge assumed demons moaned when being exorcised, but more in the  _ fuck me harder _ sort of way, and just a week ago he’d been having a nice cup of tea and thinking about how boring his life was. What even was life anymore?

“Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te,” he intoned over the moaning, though ‘Father Bono’ didn’t seem to notice, caught up as he was. “Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te. Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te.”

He repeated it, again and again, stopping only to groan himself, as ‘Father Bono’ was clenching now, hard and fast, fingertips gripping, head spinning, moaning still, so loud that it was a wonder the other Father’s had not rushed in to look. They’d said no. They’d all said no. He’d said no, and look where he was, what he was doing, fucking his best friend beneath a black cloud, saying, “Cum haec Gallus quas eieci te,” through gritted teeth. And then ‘Father Bono’ was coming, hard and fast, his body spasming as though he’d been struck by lightning, his mouth opening in a wordless cry, and through parted lips escaped a plume of black smoke. He fell limp against the bed, the bed thumped back down to earth, and Father Edge just kept on thrusting. He was going to hell. He was going to hell in a handbasket, and he was happy to do so, as long as he got to come first.

After, when he himself had fallen limp against the bed, there was silence. Long, awkward silence where neither of them knew what to say. It wasn’t exactly a situation one could prepare for, after all.

Finally, Father Bono said, “Edge? I, um, have a few questions. . .”  
  



End file.
